


Strawberry Girl

by french_cake



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Gen, Great Prophecy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 22:19:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9627791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/french_cake/pseuds/french_cake
Summary: Years before Percy's story, the prophecy is thrust on another demigod.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thanks for deciding to read my writing of questionable quality. This is my first fanfic, not counting some lame writing I wrote when I was, like, ten. Don't expect anything great. But I hope you like it!
> 
> This is also posted on Wattpad by the account @french_cake, which is also me.

I drop to the ground, gasping for breath.

_ "Evelyn, run!" _ roars my father's voice, echoing through my head. I feel shaky, and breathless. Cold. Am I in shock? No. Yes. I don't know. Probably -

A creak sounds from above me, from the rusty balcony I jumped off. I notice the stinging in my hands. Sharp needles of pain pierce my palms, slashes of crimson and dark gravel dotting the ragged skin. I bite back a cry of pain and desperation.

A figure stomps out onto the balcony, its breathing seeming louder than mine. I scramble to my feet and break into a run again, sticking to the shadows of the buildings, flinching every time a car roars down the street. My clothes stick to my skin with sweat. The stars twinkle mockingly from the night sky.

I gasp as a hand touches my shoulder. I whip around, the contents of my faded blue backpack biting into me.

A short woman stand behind me, wearing a t-shirt and jeans. Her curly blond hair is in a messy bun. She looks about forty, maybe a little older. She must live in one of the apartments bordering the street.

"Are you okay, honey?" her brows are drawn together with concern. "Where are your parents?"

I shake my head. Gone. Both gone. I'm alone. But my mouth feels parched and I don't feel sane enough to trust anyone right now. I back away, stumbling. She reaches for me. I notice a rope twisted around her tanned wrist - It's dotted with maybe five clay beads.

"I'm sorry," I croak, running again. My feet are sore and a cramp is clawing at my side but I'm afraid and I have to  _ run, run run _ -

_ "Evelyn! Get out of here!" _

My eyes feel raw again, as salty tears drip down my face, falling onto my chapped lips. My legs are getting more and more tired, and I can't keep running forever. My sore feet. My cramping side. My dry mouth. My raw eyes.

But what else can I do?

_ "You've always wanted to go to New York, Ev! It's nothing, really!" _

_ But I keep beaming. This is going to be an amazing vacation. I can just tell. _

_ New York's where my parents met, and got married. But then my mom got really sick, and died. I was only one year old. _

_ My dad moved to Amber, Ontario with me a few months after she passed away. I grew up in Canada, but I've always wanted to come back here. And now, at fifteen years of age, I'm finally here. This is going to be the best summer ever! _

It's what I thought. I was so excited. I was overjoyed to come here. But on the way back to our hotel, a group of people surrounded us. 

I  _ think _ they were people.

I'm sure it was my imagination. But they seemed to only have one eye each, and they were all so ridiculously tall, and they just seemed so  _ wrong _ -

I'm not sure how sane I am right now.

I'm not on anything. I don't drink. But there's no way my dad was kidnapped by a gang of one-eyed people. I don't live in a horror movie or nutty thriller novel.

I almost run into a car, I'm so lost in my head. I gasp, my heart thumping in terror, as I stop centimetres before being run over.

Jesus! There's no point in running if I'm killed by my own stupidity.

I stumble across the crosswalk once the street light yields, worrying faintly about the gravel and shredded skin that are my palms. Will they become infected? If only I had some bandages or antiseptic or something. They sting horribly, but I'm only half-aware.

Yeah, I probably am in shock.

I lean back against a building, panting. I must look as crazy as I feel, with black hair flying askew, sweat soaking my clothes and skin, bloody hands and - I've even scraped my knee, I realise. It's screaming all at once, and I can't suppress a sob. 

"Um, are you okay?"

A brown-haired boy with fair skin is standing next to me. His legs look strange, like they're weirdly bent under his jeans. He's wearing an orange t-shirt with black words, but my eyes are blurring and I can't read it. My contacts must be incredibly dried out. My eyes are watering now, though I can't tell whether or not it's tears that are wetting my cheeks now.

"No," I say, my voice catching. "I'm not okay."

Suddenly, I hear a terrifying shout. Three of those awful creatures are coming down the sidewalk towards me -  _ oh my god, oh my  _ god _ , they  _ are _ one-eyed, oh god oh god oh god _ -

The curly-haired woman, the one with the rope bracelet, appears on my other side. She nods to the boy, then heads towards the monsters -  _ they must be figments of my imagination, this is all impossible _ .

"Don't!" I cry, but my voice is weak. The ground wobbles beneath me and I hear the boy yelp as he catches me. Then I'm swallowed by darkness.

***

_ "Who are you?" My father's voice is wary. _

_ There's no response. My heart is ripping itself out of my chest. They must be a gang - criminals, or - _

_ What kind of people only have one eye? _

_ Why is Dad not freaking out?  _

_ He must be holding it together for my sake. I'm grateful, but then suddenly it doesn't quite seem like that's what's going on. _

_ "Your time has come." A woman's voice comes from the clump of creatures. _

_ "No," insists my father. "You will not touch Evelyn." _

_ "We'll do whatever we want, mortal man." _

_ Mortal man? _

_ "Ev." My dad pushes me behind him. "Run." _

_ I don't argue. The tone of his voice is enough to silence my objections. _

_ "Evelyn, run!" _

_ I'm scared. _

_ "Evelyn! Get out of here!" _

_ As I sprint away, I hear a scream. _

_ My father's scream. Filled with pain and hopelessness. _

_ I stifle a sob, swiping at my eyes with one dark-skinned hand. _

_ Someone touches my hand and I gasp. _

I jolt awake.


	2. Chapter 2

I shriek as I hurdle back into the waking world. My throat feels raw and dry. My body, sore.

I blink, looking around me. Pale gray walls surround the room, with faded pictures hanging in some places. The floor looks soft, carpeted in light blue. A plush chair sits across from the bed I've just bolted upright in.

One square window is on my left, letting in warm, soft daylight. I squint at first, looking outside, but then my eyes adjust and I see bright green grass and an assortment of small buildings. A pavilion in the distance has a few people eating, and a climbing wall - seems to be spewing lava?

Am I delirious? What is this place?

Where am I?

Memories are biting at my head, of tall monstrous figures and dirty streets. Of a curly-haired woman and bent-legged boy.

"Good morning."

The one white door has been opened by the blonde woman. She's wearing a blue sundress and the rope is still wrapped around her wrist. She sits down in the chair.

"Hi," I croak, wincing at my painful throat.

"Here," she says, her tone concerned and motherly. Not that I know from personal experience.

I push down my feelings of resentment and nod my head in thanks, accepting the glass of what looks like apple juice.

To my surprise, it tastes like hot chocolate. I close my eyes, inhaling the rich cocoa scent and feeling the cream slide down my throat. It tastes like the hot chocolate from my favorite café, Sunrise.

Then I jerk away from the glass, alarmed. To my surprise, I feel completely fine now. No soreness in my bones, no scratching in my throat.

"What is this? Who are you?"

"My name is Amanda," says the woman gently. "I understand that you're confused, but believe me when I say we only want to help you."

Cautiously, I nod. I don't know what to believe right now, but if I'm being given a chance to understand what's going on, I have to take it.

Amanda fingers her rope bracelet. "What's your name?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"Because I can help you."

"Or you're a kidnapper."

"Fine. Don't tell me." Amanda doesn't seem irritated, only mildly amused. Which is annoying.

I drain my glass, and she takes it back. "What do you know about Greek mythology?" she asks.

"A bit. I had a few books - presents from my dad. There are, like, gods and titans and things, and monsters. Like Medusa, or cyclo-" I stop abruptly. Ridiculously tall with one eye. "Wait. Were those things  _ cyclopes _ ?"

"Yes."

I lean back in the bed, feeling a mix of horror and confusion swirl through me. "But they're not real. Cyclopes are  _ myths _ . Stories. Not  _ real things _ ."

"They are. This is confusing, I know. But Greek mythology is real."

"Prove it."

Amanda bends over, untying her shoes, I think. When she straightens, she holding a pair of sandals.

The sandals have small white wings, fluttering faintly.

"Like Hermes's sandals," I say distantly. I'm insane. I must be.

"Yes. My father's."

"Your  _ father's _ ?"

"Hermes."

" _ What _ ?"

"Hermes is my father."

" _ What _ ?"

I feel a headache coming on.

“You’re not crazy, honey. It’s true.”

“My name’s Evelyn.” I’m not sure why I told her that.  “Can I have more of that liquid?” Wait. “Was that alcohol or something?”

“Nectar. The drink of the gods. It - and ambrosia, their food - can heal demigods, but it’ll burn mortals to a crisp. Nectar and ambrosia taste like your favourite comfort food. Not alcohol, magic.”

“Demigods?” There are so many questions swarming up my throat, but that one comes out first.

“Children of mortals - humans - and gods. Like me. And you.” She smiles.

“I’m a demigod?”

“Did you only know one of your parents?” asks Amanda.

“Yeah. My dad. But my mom died.”

“No, she had to leave your father, but she didn’t die.”

I don’t know why, but I’m starting to believe her.

“How did you know I was a demigod?”

“Your mother let us know. Touch your hair.”

I do, and I find an intricate crown of flowers woven into my dark locks.

“They just appeared, like they’d sprouted out of your head. It’s a sign from Demeter.”

“The goddess of nature and stuff, right?”

“Yes.” Amanda seems pleasantly surprised by my recall. “She’s your mother.”

“Amanda?”

“Yes, Evelyn.”

“Tell me everything.”


End file.
